Femme Fatale
by 3rdgymbros
Summary: Rival assassin AU, featuring Karma x Fem!Nagisa.
1. Karma is ( literally ) a Bitch

**A/N:** Okay, so I know I have a story in this fandom already ( raison d'être ), but after reading the end of the Assassination Classroom manga ( KARMA GOT HOTTER *hyperventilates* ), I couldn't help but wonder about an AU where Nagisa and Karma are actual assassins. This has fem! Nagisa in it, so be warned! I hope everyone enjoys the story, because I had a blast and a half writing the first chapter. Reviews, favorites and subscriptions are appreciated!

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For the past half-hour, Nagisa has been crouching on the roof of the building, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds, watching patiently, scanning the street through the scope of her rifle. She checks her watch for the third time with a frown. Kayano had told her that her target would be leaving at six thirty, and it was almost seven.

Nagisa adjusts the scope, rubs some warmth back into her fingers and resumes her wait. The sun had nearly set, the temperature dropping with each passing minute. Sniping had never been Nagisa's cup of tea – that was Hayami's forte – but seeing as how their resident sniper was currently on her own mission in sunny Singapore, Nagisa, having had fairly decent sniping skills herself, had been tasked with eliminating the target – a radical Presidential candidate, who was dangerously close to being elected.

The first rule loops in her head, in Professor Bitch's thick Croatian accent. _"Never give your target a name. It humanizes them. They are targets, nothing more, and nothing less."_

The sensory input is astonishing - the smell of vehicle exhaust mixes with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blend with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders... And the cars _. Jesus Christ_. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars is unlike anything Nagisa has ever seen anywhere.

There is always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part the flood of yellow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. She is in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigate tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who brave the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruise right through it all, their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They don't view the steam billowing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic delight and they don't blink an eye when the ground vibrates beneath their feet as the subway roars by below, while Nagisa grins like an idiot and flexes her toes. New York is a brand new love affair for her. It's clear that she's a starry-eyed tourist and it shows.

"Forever Flat, can you hear me?" Voice barely above a whisper, Nagisa speaks into her ear piece. "The target has yet to show up. Are you _sure_ you got his schedule right?"

Kayano's voice crackles to life, tinged with irritation. "'Course I did! Scrunchies and Boobs double checked it, too!"

Nagisa makes a low sound of acknowledgement in the back of her throat, eyes still trained on the doors of the _Avery._ Ornate copper framed revolving doors glitter in the fading light, and Nagisa can no longer hear the bustle and flow of traffic anymore, just the quiet whoosh of air as it enters and leaves her lungs and the rush of blood in her ears. The cold of the Dragunov SVD sinks under her skin, all the way to her bones, sending a cold pinprick down her spine and sharpening her focus.

She'll only have a split second to take the shot – the target will leave the building first, followed closely by his bodyguards, and it is that juncture in time that she would be aiming for. Her breath catches in her throat when right on cue, the doors open, a headful of garish orange hair and his massive girth waddling into view. A quick shift of the rifle ensures that its cross-hairs are centered on the target's lined forehead – one quick, clean head-shot, and then she can be on her merry way, with no one aware that she has just assassinated one of America's political figures . . .

Click.

 _BANG._

There is a beat of silence, and then the noisy cacophony of New York returns, assaulting Nagisa's senses. Kayano is screeching her head off on the other end of the line, squawking for Fluffy Stag Beetle and Scrunchies and Boobs to _get onto the scene_ and _clear things up_ , because things are _most certainly not okay._ All Nagisa can see through the scope's narrow lens is the man's prone form, the dark puddle beneath his head growing larger by the minute. She bites back a curse. She's _missed_. The man's chest is still rising and falling. Instead of a bloody hole in his temple, Nagisa sees a hole in his throat.

Red fills her vision once more; only this time, it belongs to her one of her target's black-suited bodyguards. Blood gushes out of the hole in his neck, and as Nagisa watches, her mouth agape, the red headed man takes a wad of gauze from a medical kit on his belt and thrusts it into the wound, pinching the artery shut. Eyes rolling wildly, the injured man screams, blood frothing from his lips as he does so, but to his credit, the bodyguard doesn't even flinch.

More bodyguards swarm in to take his place and the red-head pads away, perfectly at ease even among all the chaos and screaming civilians. People on the sidewalk are screaming, and scrambling to get out of the way, but some of them have pulled out their smart phones to video the whole event, ringing the fallen man in a loose circle. She watches, frozen to her spot on the roof, watches as the man pulls his own phone out of his pocket, having a rushed discussion with whoever is on the end of the line.

A smirk spreads across those full lips, and slowly, _deliberately_ , the male lifts his head. There is something fierce about the gesture, one that reminds Nagisa of lions she's watched on the Discovery Channel, the way the big cats would raise their heads and sniff the air for prey. His eyes are golden, luminous and liquid, even in the dark. An icy fingernail skims up Nagisa's spine. It is dark, she's in camouflage gear, but she knows he can see her. The chill from the concrete leeches into her limbs and Nagisa resists the urge to shiver as she haphazardly throws her rifle into her violin case, heart kicking into gear.

"Forever Flat, get those two outta there." Nagisa pauses, still lying flat on her stomach. Her voice sounds like glass shards in a blender and she clears her throat. Stops fighting the urge to shiver. "Tell them to meet me at the safe house in Broadway. We're leaving."

Nagisa keeps her head down as she makes her way past the registration desk and exits the hotel through a side door. No longer dressed in camouflage, Nagisa is now neatly attired in a white button down, vest and jeans, with a pair of broken in cowboy boots on her feet. Her powder blue hair is in her trademark pigtails, and her rifle is hidden neatly in her Amati violin case. She can easily pass for a ( slightly feminine ) male, one on his way to music lessons, perhaps.

It is dark out now, the city taking on a whole new life and energy from what it had during the business day. Steaming food carts dot the sidewalks, along with a vendor selling framed artwork, another hawking novelty T-shirts, and yet another who has two folding tables covered in movie and television episode scripts. Nagisa trembles as she walks, the breath soughing from her lungs with every step.

All she can see is _red._


	2. Nagisa Has a Girls' Day Out

**A/N:** *waves frantically* Thank you so much for all your kind reviews! I'm so glad people like this story. I decided to post it on the spur of the moment, and while I have most of the plot fleshed out in my notebook, I am kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place. See, I was thinking about putting smut ( just one chapter or so ) about them doing the do, but I'm kind of unsure if I should do that or not. So if it's not too much trouble, could you guys comment about what I should do? If enough people want a steamy scene, I'll put it in. As usual, reviews, favorites and subscriptions are appreciated. More action in the next chapter, I promise! *blows kisses*

 **P.S.** Cookies to _Dragon Silhouette_ who got the reference in Chapter One! *claps*

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"You look like shit."

The apartment smells fabulous when Nagisa wakes up, and Taylor Swift is crooning soulfully through the surround sound speakers about going back to December. She looks across the open floor plan into the kitchen and sees Rio swaying to the music while she flips pancakes off the griddle. Dressed in a pair of holey sweats and a white tank top, the blonde shakes her head at Nagisa with a grin, directing her over to the breakfast table. Kayano is already seated, and she looks up from the morning newspaper with a sympathetic smile. Nagisa examines the food on her plate. Looks like scrambled eggs, a strip of bacon and a half-eaten pancake.

"Bad dreams?" Rio probes, using tongs to flip over the bacon sizzling on the stove.

Nagisa groans, but the sound is muffled by her burying her face into her arms. "Bad mission, more like. The Bitch smothered me in her enormous tattas, and I didn't even get a chance to tell her about that prick!"

Rio dishes up scrambled eggs, a couple of sausage links, and English muffin and bacon. The blond plonks into a chair next to Nagisa, her ears practically flapping in anticipation. "Ohohoho ~ Did our cute little Nagisa meet a guy?"

"He got in the way of my mission," Nagisa grouses, neatly plucking Kayano's mug from her hands. Kayano exclaims indignantly, but Nagisa ignores her and takes a tentative sip. _Bleargh._ For a girl with a sweet tooth, it is a mystery to her how Kayano can guzzle down mugs filled with the darkest, nastiest coffee that can be consumed and still be considered a liquid. Making a face, Nagisa shoves the mug back to Kayano. "Ruined everything."

Rio munches on a handful of bacon, studying Nagisa with those worldly sapphire eyes, eyes that have seen more than anyone should be subjected to. Her eyes gleam. "Details, Nagisa. I'm dying over here."

Nagisa lifts a hand in surrender, speaking through a mouthful of scrambled egg. Yum. Rio is a cooking goddess, second to only Sumire Hara. "Okay, okay. Yeesh. All I could see was his red hair. He had golden eyes too."

Rio stills. "Are you sure?"

"Ritsu's checking the feed from the lobby's security cameras, and she's monitoring the TV reports, but she's said squat about the prick." Nagisa shrugs slender shoulders. "Maybe I just imagined it all."

"I'll ask her later."

"Mmm. Thanks Rio."

The blonde returns Nagisa's tired smile, and if Nagisa notices her slightly strained smile, the bluenette deigns to say anything. Rio already has a vague inkling of who the young man is, and is unsurprised when Ritsu confirms her suspicions.

Rio takes Nagisa out for lunch at a deli near the Agency, with delicious wraps and a decent selection of Ben & Jerry cups. Kataoka Megu, Kaede Kayano and Hinano Okano tag along too – just eighteen year old girls out for a day of fun. No one would suspect them of being professional assassins, with a total body count reaching the hundreds.

The group sits at a metal table in the back, the remnants of their lunch on a tray between them. The deli isn't as crazed during lunchtime as some of the other restaurants and full-service eateries in the area are, which suits everyone fine; especially since Rio has some key information to reveal.

"So I talked to Ritsu, and get this – Nagisa's dream guy is real," Rio says, licking Chunky Monkey ice cream off the back of her spoon. "He's called Karma."

Nagisa practically wilts – word had spread fast around the Agency about her failed mission – and her forehead meets the table. "Rio, that is _so_ misleading –"

"Wait, wait," Kayano interjects, a puzzled frown creasing her forehead. "Are you trying to say that the reason Nagisa failed was because she did too many bad things?"

"No, no." Rio's startlingly blue eyes bore into Nagisa's own with a seriousness that takes the shorter girl aback. "That's his name. Akabane Karma."

Megu's mouth forms a little 'O' of surprise. "You mean that psychotic devil? _The_ Akabane Karma from Karasuma's group?"

While Hinano sighs dreamily at the thought of her crush ( 'Dark and Dangerous' Mr Karasuma, whom Professor Bitch has the hots for ), Nagisa winces as she swallows a mouthful of Cherry Garcia. She's heard about the Psychotic Prince – in fact, she doubts that anyone at their table hasn't heard of him. But she'd never thought that she'd actually get to meet the guy face-to-face – even if hers had been behind the narrow scope of a rifle.

Incredibly cocky ( not to mention sadistic ), Akabane was a top assassin, who'd killed thousands, ranging from corrupt politicians to human traffickers. Nagisa had heard some pretty nasty rumors about the guy. ( "He once shoved mustard and wasabi up his target's nose!" "I heard that Akabane once taped a live cockroach to another guy's head." ), and incredible tales about his missions, some of which seemed to unbelievable to be true. Completing an assassination on a plane headed to Chennai . . . Jumping off the roof of a three story building ( and surviving ) . . . Rescuing a kidnapped Princess of a small tribe in Kenya . . .

"Oh, Nagisa, you have to be careful!" Kayano berates her friend in a hushed, horror laced voice. "That guy is like – like a wild _animal!"_

"I'll be careful," Nagisa promises, slurping up the last of her slightly melted ice cream. "Besides, I'm sure that time was just a coincidence. I won't see Akabane anymore, I'm sure."


	3. Karma Strikes ( Again )

**A/N:** Okay, so one person wants a sex scene. Does anyone else want one? *ignores the fact that I want to write it badly too* Also - **VIVA LA SEXUAL TENSION.** *fans self* The fated meeting is finally HERE! Enjoy! Reviews, subscriptions and favorites are, as usual, appreciated!

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"Tsundere Sniper is in position. Gender Blender, you may proceed."

"Copy that, Forever Flat. Team, we're heading in."

A quick flick of Nagisa's wrist has Gyaru English and Stern Lecture vaulting neatly over the wrought iron gate. Nagisa follows soon after, with a quick nod at Tsundere Sniper. The sniper has concealed herself in a dense thicket of trees, ready to pick off any bodyguards patrolling the mansion, but so far, there haven't been any sign of them – a sure sign that something is amiss.

"Stay on your guard," Nagisa warns, and she receives whispered affirmations in return.

Nagisa feels the weight of her trusty pistol resting on her thigh. A _Heckler and Koch P30_ , it has always been there for her, tried and true, a constant. Steel and lead, they respond predictably. They are finite, unchanging, able to be mastered. She can count on them. Nagisa removes the pistol from its holster, joining the group by the door. Stern Lecture has her handy lock-pick in hand, but the door creaks open the minute she touches it.

". . . Should we go in?" Stern Lecture mumbles, staring at the door as if it might be radioactive.

"We gotta, otherwise we don't get _paid,_ " Gyaru English retorts, kicking the door open before Nagisa can stop her.

And there goes the element of surprise, Nagisa thinks, watching in exasperation as Gyaru English sticks her head into the empty room. A second later, she hears a flurry of cursing, followed by a muffled yell of, "Bomb!"

There is a sharp intake of breath from Stern Lecture, and her eyes grow shiny with surprise. " _What?_ How long do we have?"

"A minute!" Gyaru English replies breathlessly, slamming the door shut. "Do we head back down?"

"There's no time," Nagisa says, shooting down her friend's suggestion instantly. She shoves her gun back into its holster. "It'll go off before we even make it out."

Stern Lecture's voice is almost ruthlessly calm. "Then what do you have in mind?"

Sprinting forward, Nagisa yanks the door open. She ignores Gyaru English's cry of, "Are you crazy?", ignores the panic inducing ticks coming from atop the heavy walnut desk, ignores the reason why they had ventured into the house in the first place – to find proof of a corrupt prime minister embezzling state funds – and, taking a leaf out of Rio's book, kicks the window open. The glass buckles, some of the pieces shattering and landing on the floor beside her, and clean, cold air pours into the room. Hoping that the duo will be smart enough to follow her lead, Nagisa leaps out. There is a sharp tearing and ripping sound as the sleeve of her black jacket catches on a jagged edge of glass. And then cold winter air hits her skin as Nagisa tumbles through the window, hits the edge of the roof, and falls into the bushes below.

The impact with the hard-packed earth of the ground knocks the wind out of Nagisa. Her backpack does little to soften the blow. A second later, both Gyaru English and Stern Lecture land beside her, broken and bruised, but thankfully, _alive._ For a moment, everything seems frozen in time. Then the house becomes a raging inferno against the sky, and Nagisa is blown backwards into the air.

Once again, her spine slaps onto hard ground. Dazed and disoriented, Nagisa lies there, trying to remember how to breathe. The ground shakes with explosions. She can't hear them. She can't hear anything at the moment. Nagisa manages to shield her face with her arms as shattered bits of matter, some of it burning, rains down around her. An acrid smoke fills the air, which is not the best remedy for someone trying to regain the ability to breathe.

After about a minute, the ground stops vibrating. Nagisa rolls onto her side. Her face and hands sting, and she catches a faint scent of burned hair that she tries to ignore, but she doesn't seem to be badly hurt. Another few seconds, and it might've been a different story.

"Gender Blender!" A familiar voice cries, and Tsundere Sniper comes barreling out of the inky blackness, her _Howa M1500_ slung across her back. Nagisa slumps in relief. "Are you hurt?"

Nagisa shakes her head, looking around for Stern Lecture and Gyaru English. "Where is everyone?"

"I helped them over to the trees. They're both fine, but Gyaru English is out of action." Slinging an arm around Nagisa's waist, Tsundere Sniper helps her to her feet. The two of them stumble through the shadows together, leaving the burning house behind. "She got burned pretty badly, but she'll live. Stern Lecture is looking after her."

They regroup about a click east from where the Prime Minister's house had once stood. Nagisa radios Forever Flat in a voice that is fraying apart at the edges. She lurches slightly to her right, where Stern Lecture is tending to Gyaru English, stepping off the fairly cleared pathway and into a sea of lush green ferns and brush that seem to spring up from every square inch of ground. She tries not to look at Gyaru English's calf, which is a brilliant red and covered with blisters, tries not to look at the blonde's face, which is contorted in pain. "Forever Flat, this is Gender Blender. The mission has been jeopardized, and Gyaru English is down. We need an evac, _stat._ Please send Mistress over."

" _Forever flat'?"_ A teasing baritone floats into earshot out of the murky blackness, and Nagisa catches the briefest hint of gold. _"Gyaru English'?_ _Seriously?_ Who comes up with your code names, anyway?"

Nagisa bites back a curse. _Crap. Rookie mistake._ In all their haste to get away, none of them had remembered to cover their tracks, or better still – make sure their location is _secure_. In an instant, her gun is at the ready, trained on the spot where she'd heard the boy's voice. She hears the click of Tsundere Sniper's rifle, feels the warm reassurance as Stern Lecture's arm brushes against hers. As if by some unknown signal, the three of them form a tight circle around their injured friend, like a pack of lions protecting their young.

" _Half of Middle Two,"_ A new voice, also male, speaks up, perfectly deadpan. "Yours isn't _that_ hip either."

 _Two males . . ._

An indignant whine that scrapes against Nagisa's ear-drums seconds his statement. "Yeah! Who's bright idea was it to call me _'End of Perversion'_ , anyway?"

 _Three targets confirmed._

Nagisa recovers, spraying bullets into the direction of the voices. She's shooting on blind instinct, but Tsundere Sniper and Stern Lecture follow after a second of hesitation, obediently following Nagisa's lead. She hears a muffled yelp as the trio of males hastily relocate to a safer position. If they can just hold out until Mistress gets here . . . Nagisa holds up a hand, and the two girls cautiously lower their guns. She debates using a flash grenade, to buy them time to escape, but Rio is too badly injured to move, and they couldn't move her without causing agonizing pain to the blonde.

 _"Half of Middle Two,"_ The second male speaks up, his voice, low, cultured and tinged with exasperation. "You've gotten your glimpse of her, now let's go. _Home Base_ is on his way, we have to retreat while we've got the files –"

"Gotcha, _President Ikemen!"_ 'Half of Middle Two' replies cheerily, as though the two were conversing about the weather, and not about leaving the scene with their lives intact.

Nagisa has just lowered her own pistol when she hears the twig snap. In one motion, she turns to the sound, striking a defensive position. There's no one there. No one she can _see_ anyway. Then, a pale hand, pleasantly warm and calloused, rests on the curve of her hip, tugging Nagisa's smaller frame into his own lanky one. He radiates heat and hunger, his face so close to Nagisa's own that she can see his every feature, from breathtaking golden irises, to luxurious red hair that frames a pale, beautiful face. She has almost no room to breathe. It's _him._ The black suited body guard from the other day . . . _Akabane Karma._ She _knows_ she should shoot him, but all she can do is _stare_ as those searingly intense eyes darken, boring into her own twilight blue orbs. His lips brush teasingly over the shell of her ear, a heated whisper ghosting over her skin.

"Until next time, _Nagisa~"_


	4. Nagisa Hits Below The Belt

**A/N:** Two people want smut! ( If you don't include me, that is ). Words cannot express how happy I am that everyone is enjoying my story. The response has been overwhelming, and all your reviews have been very kind, with comments that never fail to make me grin like an idiot whenever I reread them. And just to clear up some confusion, this story **ISN'T** canon. It is a rival assassin AU, as stated in the summary. Lastly, reviews, subscriptions and favorites are appreciated! Enjoy the new chapter!

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"Psycho Boy said _what_ now?" Sitting next to Nagisa on the expensive leather seat of the Rolls Royce, Scrunchies and Boobs shakes her head in amazement.

Dressed in a devastating leopard print Roberto Cavalli silk gown, Scrunchies and Boobs brushes an errant wisp of hair away from her face. The dress is slashed down from neck to navel, revealing her pale, ivory skin, and ends in a haze of feathers that flutters down her calves. Her chocolate brown hair is twisted up into an artful chignon that resembles a figure eight, and pearl studs glitter in her ears.

"I _know."_ Shaking her head, Nagisa uncaps a bottle of Perrier and knocks half of it back in a gulp, shuddering as the icy water hits her mouth. "First he tries to blow me up, and then he goes and does _that."_

"He must have taken an interest in you," Mistress comments with one of her famous Mona Lisa smiles, the kind that has grown men falling at her feet to do her bidding. "After he saw you in the hotel that day."

She giggles when Nagisa groans. Mistress is wearing a plush velvet dress in a lovely shade of emerald green that dramatically offset her cascading raven tresses. Her pale, ivory complexion looks almost translucent against the deep rich, dark jeweled color of the gown. It has a plunging, outrageously low neckline, cut from collarbone to belly button, revealing a generous amount of cleavage but stops short of anything obscene. The bodice is embroidered with a thousand Swarovski crystals that twinkle against the fabric like stars in the night sky.

The car screeches to a halt, and the three of them are helped out. The Carlyle Hotel is an understated, elegant hotel on Madison Avenue in the style of a grand English manor. It is one of those hotels that whisper of luxury with an intimidating Old Money sang-froid. Even the air-conditioning is always a frosty sixty-six degrees. It was here that Nagisa had met Professor Bitch. The curvaceous blonde had been seated at the bar, smoking a Marlboro, and drinking one _Sazerac_ after another. Nagisa had been sitting quietly, _Shirley Temple_ in hand, looking at the frolicking animals on the mural and counting the many ladies who came in wearing hats and corsages. Having taken _'a liking'_ to her, Professor Bitch had offered her a job – but it wasn't until Nagisa had accepted the offer that Professor Bitch had told her exactly _what_ that job had entailed. And the rest, as they said, was _history._ On the rare occasions when Professor Bitch – and everyone else – was free, they would repair to several suites at the Carlyle for a holiday. Nagisa would order strawberries and cream from room service, fill up the whirlpool bath, and eat her nutritiously deficient dinner amid the bubbles.

When Nagisa walks into the ballroom that evening, she feels at home in the hushed surroundings. The two fifty-piece orchestras face each other across the expanse of the ballroom, playing a serene waltz as the guests display all their finery - the men dashing and suave in their tails, the women preternaturally thin and impossibly stylish in their couture ball gowns. It is a magical sight, but Nagisa doesn't stay to admire it. She slips away, darting around the rest of the guests clogging the carpeted entrance. Out of the corner of her eye, she can Mistress smiling vapidly as she talks to the eager cluster of males that ring her in a loose circle.

"You know the plan, right?" Forever Flat asks through Nagisa's earpiece.

"Yes, we've gone through it before." Nagisa replies, hardly breaking stride as she walks out to the main lobby toward the guarded elevator. "While Mistress and Scrunchies and Boobs circle the crowd, I grab the documents and go."

"Any idea on how to get through the elevator guys?" Forever Flat changes the subject abruptly. "Your target has booked a room in the hotel, but you'll need to be a guest to actually get up there."

"No problem. We know them, remember?"

She smiles at the elevator man in his shiny red coat with brass buttons. "Hi, Martin."

"Hi, Miss Shiota, you haven't been here in a while," He says, tipping his hat.

"I know, it's been too long," Nagisa says smoothly, stepping into the mirrored elevator.

"Twelfth floor?" Martin asks genially.

"No, they uh, put us on ten this time. You guys must be booked."

"It's October," He explains. "Lots of tourists. Some show at the Met or something." He presses the **TEN** and takes a step back, smiling genially at Nagisa.

"Thanks, Martin, see you around!" Nagisa says when the doors open.

A minute later, Nagisa finds herself on the tenth floor, her hand hovering cautiously over the knife tucked into her sleeve. With a practiced ease, she moves down the carpeted hallway, ducking behind walls and keeping to the shadows lest anyone spots her. But the staff is all presumably occupied with the party downstairs, and the hall is clear and quiet, with dark teak walls and plush red carpeting. Nagisa stops at room 1001.

Out comes the master key that Fluffy Stag Beetle has procured, and Nagisa slips into the room a heartbeat later. The suite is big, and white, with plush wall-to-wall carpeting. A potted orchid stands proudly on the nightstand. An immaculately made king size bed takes up most of the room space, but an equally impressive mahogany desk sits in the far corner, with a view that overlooks the lush greenery of Central Park. Two white armchairs sit before a flat-screened television, empty tea cups and crumbs littering the marble coffee table. With an anxious glance at the door, Nagisa moves over to the desk, rifling through every inch of its polished surface. But it is devoid of papers, save the generic notepad, with the hotel's insignia embellished in the corner. Frustrated, she pokes into the dustbin as well, hoping to at least find some castaways that she can use, but the little white bin is devastatingly empty.

She hears a sudden intake of breath before she catches the door creaking open. A cold draught of steel whistles past her cheek, and Nagisa reflexively hits the ground. The blade - a fine one with a long sharp blade, serrated near the handle - lodges in the wall, and she frees it in one smooth motion, claiming it as her own weapon.

She exhales through clenched teeth. _"Akabane."_

In the light, Akabane Karma is even more striking than she remembers. Golden eyes, shrewd and assessing, bore into her. Nagisa has never seen hair that intense. It is glossy and slightly long, the ends drifting over his collar. As Professor Bitch would say, only rogues and raiders had hair like that. He has gone all out in black tie, but he's skipped the tie. His crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a flash of creamy, translucent skin that looks absolutely surreal in contrast with the coal black of his Brioni tuxedo.

" _Nagisa,"_ Karma greets her in response, running a tongue over his lower lip.

Just as quickly, he slashes experimentally at her side, and Nagisa pirouettes out of reach. If Akabane wants to play with her, who is she to object?

Nagisa can feel the blood-lust and aggression rolling off Akabane in waves, sees the wicked grin that makes his lips curve as he tries to carve a second, bloody smile into her throat. She ducks, meeting his dagger with the one she'd swiped from him mere seconds earlier. And then, there is nothing but metal ringing, her own labored breathing, punchy with every footfall and the sound of Akabane's full, throaty laugh, which flows over her like a rush of warm water - it is soft, but tinged with a hint of hysteria, and Nagisa's blood turns to shooting stars – and then she is soaring through them, delighting in the feral song that sings in her cells and bones, and reverberates through her very being.

 _He's good,_ Nagisa thinks grudgingly, as the male leaps aside to avoid her gutting him, quick as a flash of lightning. She lunges, feinting left, but the red-head catches her attack with a silken smile, pivoting on his heel and slashing at her unprotected chest, as deadly as a striking asp. Nagisa staggers back, but not fast enough to avoid the sting of Akabane's dagger as it slices through the white cotton of her Michael Kors dress shirt, scattering buttons in its wake. The tight cloth binding her chest from under her arms to her lower ribs comes undone all too easily, ripped to shreds by the dagger's serrated edge. Strips of fire dance across the bare skin of her abdomen, a thin line of blood welling up and trickling down her body.

In a too-fast movement Akabane grabs her wrists, twisting her to the ground. Nagisa slams into the carpet so hard the air is knocked from her lungs, her head spins, and she loses her grip on the dagger. Nagisa kicks and squirms, trying to buck him off, but the boy pinning her to the ground is too heavy and refuses to budge. Akabane raises his knife, about to send the blade plunging home, but stops. And blinks. His eyes trace over the swell of her chest, down to the curve of her hips, and Nagisa has the pleasure of seeing _Akabane Karma_ being caught off guard.

"- You don't have _it_ down there?"

Nagisa sees her chance and she takes it. Mustering all her strength, she brings up her legs and aims a kick to Akabane's groin – hard enough that he doubles over with a wheeze. She doesn't stick around to answer his question, locking the door behind her with a growl.

Another mission, _compromised,_ thanks to Akabane freaking Karma.

She's never been one to use violence if she can help it, but Nagisa has never wished to sock someone in their perfect face so badly before.


	5. Nagisa Pulls A Fast One

**A/N:** Here's an extra long chapter, as thanks for everyone's support! Okay, so I've received a few PMs asking me what _it_ is - and I would like to say that _it_ starts with a 'P' and ends with an 'S'. Alternatively, _it_ also rhymes with sick. Just change the first letter, and there you go. I hope that everyone's enjoying the story so far - just one more chapter, and we'll be about halfway done with Femme Fatale. I was also thinking about doing a Mafia AU for KaruNagi - with a fem! Nagisa as well, but who knows? *shrugs* If I get inspired enough ( or if I get begged enough *cackles* ) I'll post that story. As usual, reviews, favorites and subscriptions are appreciated!

Also - do any of you guys like Deadpool? I've written a story about the movie, since I loved Deadpool and Negasonic Teenage Warhead's interactions so much. It's called **FANCY MEETING YOU HERE** , and if it isn't too much trouble, I'd love it if you could check it out!

* * *

"Isn't it nostalgic?" Mistress asks brightly, trying to diffuse some of the tension that hangs in the air. "I haven't been to a school dance in such a long time!"

The yearly Trinity School back-to-school dance is called the fall "Informal," although it is anything but. The dance is held at the historical headquarters of the American Society, a grand red brick mansion on Park Avenue and Sixty-Eighth Street. The society is an organization dedicated to keeping an archive of early American history, including documents from the first colonies and the Mayflower journey. The second floor houses a wood-paneled library with a barrel-vaulted ceiling as well as several cozy, clubby rooms ideal for dinner and dancing. It's a popular event space, and many brides-to-be shelled out a fortune for the privilege of having their wedding on Park Avenue. But for Trinity students, it's just the place where they have their school dance.

Which leads Nagisa to wonder how a student from such a fancy prep school can be helping to supply illegal drugs to the other students.

"It's a bad idea," Gyaru English cautions Nagisa, discreetly nudging her in the ribs. Tonight, she's chosen to wear a couture confection of thousands of chiffon rosettes hand-stitched together to create an ethereal, cloudlike elegance. The strapless bodice hugs her tiny waist and her lustrous blonde locks spills over her creamy shoulders and toned lower back. A week of rest has clearly done her good; aside from a patch of shiny pink skin on her upper thigh, Gyaru English bears no evidence of her burns. A mischievous smile graces her lips a second later. "But I'm all _about_ bad ideas!"

Forever Flat's sullen mutter of, " _I'm_ not . . ." can be heard by all of them through their earpieces, but Gyaru English decides to ignore her - for now.

"It's Nagisa's choice," Mistress says, with a shrug of her slender shoulders and a serene smile directed at Nagisa. She looks stunning in a gold dress with a tight, strapless corset bodice and a princess skirt with folds and folds of voluminous fabric. "But coming along uninvited isn't exactly . . ."

"Professor Bitch is going to be _furious._ " Stern Lecture doesn't mince her words. Dressed in a slim Costume National black sheath dress, Prada sling backs, and a string of pearls around her swanlike neck, her hair has been taken out of its usual ponytail and has been swept away from her face in a disheveled updo. "She'll shove you into her –" Stern Lecture breaks off with a shudder, her face paling.

"She won't find out if all of you keep _quiet,"_ Nagisa says, with a pointed look at Gyaru English, who holds up her hands in what is clearly supposed to be an innocent gesture.

As far as Professor Bitch is concerned, Nagisa is obediently following doctor's orders – a week of bed rest, after that stunt she pulled in the Carlyle hotel - _not_ sneaking along on what is supposed to be an undercover mission. While Nagisa's eyes scan the room, assessing their safety with a blink, she brushes her thighs together, relieved when she feels the reassuring weight of her dagger and pistol.

Gyaru English studies Nagisa with the eye of a photographer. Nagisa has always been startlingly pretty, with a sweet, heart-shaped face; a perfectly upturned nose; soft milky skin and long, slender limbs, but tonight, her friend practically glows. Her hair has been brushed and styled to a skating rink gloss, and frames her face like a sapphire crown. A dark smoky eye shadow brings out the silver flecks in her eyes, and her lips look stained with freshly picked roses.

Nagisa cuts a devastating figure in a fire engine red dress styled for a Grecian goddess. It hangs on one shoulder, cuts diagonally across her cleavage, has ruching to the hip, and then splits at her right thigh, all the way down to her leg. There's no back to speak of, aside from a slender strip of rhinestones that connects one side to the other to keep the front from falling off. Otherwise, her back is bared in a racy V-cut.

Gyaru English whistles crudely at Nagisa under her breath. "Who knew our little Nagisa could look so _smoking_?"

Nagisa's pale cheeks turn the color of cherry blossoms, and Gyaru English laughs aloud, a tinkling peal that has everyone staring. It's no secret that Nagisa has dressed up for a certain someone, but she can't help but wonder if Nagisa wants to fry his corneas or if she wants to distract him so that she can kill him. Both are equally plausible, but she doesn't ask Nagisa.

"How can you be so sure he's here?" Forever Flat demands, and Nagisa can her the anxious drumming of her fingers on the keyboard of her ultra modern MacBook Air. "You can't just do this on a _hunch_ -"

"He's probably upstairs," Even though Stern Lecture doesn't really approve of Nagisa's covert actions – especially since she's supposed to be resting – she can't deny her friend a chance to settle the score with her 'rival'. "C'mon."

The trio worm their way upstairs through the crowd to the buffet. The rooms have been decorated with white Christmas lights, and in the back, there is an elegant display of hot and cold roast meats, silver plates laden with exquisite hors d'oeuvres and French pastries. Nagisa's mouth starts to water as she looks at the beautiful, decadent treats. Pastries stuffed with cream, cookies dusted with sugar, and chocolate, chocolate, _chocolate_ beckoning to her everywhere. Perhaps she'll swipe a few for Forever Flat before they leave.

In the middle room, a sweaty mix of patrician girls and rich boys gyrate to the beat of a hard rap song with Cirque du Soleil flexibility. The lights are off, and Nagisa can only make out the shadows of their faces. She can see that all the boys from Trinity are carrying little silver Tiffany hip flasks that stick out of their side pants pockets. Occasionally, they will surreptitiously take a swig or pour a bit of alcohol in their date's cups. There are several teachers milling about, but no one seems to notice, or care about the covert tippling.

Nagisa blows out a breath through clenched teeth. "He's not here."

"I wouldn't be so sure~" Gyaru English calls in a sing-song voice. "I have a sighting at three o'clock."

Nagisa whirls around, eyes narrowed to thin, angry slits. Akabane is wearing a custom French cuffed white shirt, with the front tucked in but the shirttails characteristically hanging out, with crisp khaki pants and a carelessly unbuttoned navy blazer. His tie is askew and he looks nothing less than drop-dead gorgeous. He fiddles with the cuff link on his right wrist as he talks to two other brunettes.

Stern Lecture has seen pictures of Akabane Karma, of course, but seeing him in the flesh is completely different. Crimson hair frames a breathtaking face. His bone structure will make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched mouth, a blade of a nose and intensely golden eyes make him savagely gorgeous. Those eyes narrow slightly when he catches sight of Nagisa, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly, but just as quickly, his usual unruffled mask is slid back on.

She recognizes the boy on his right – Isogai Yuma - a childhood friend of hers. She raises a hand ever so slightly in greeting, and he smiles warmly at her in return. Isogai has cleaned up nicely, sporting dress slacks in casual grey, a well-starched dress shirt and a black blazer, the overall effect being one of careless sophistication. Even though they are from rival agencies, Stern Lecture can't help but think that Isogai hasn't changed at all.

Gyaru English splutters with barely stifled laughter. "What are the chances of this? _Two_ hook ups in one night?"

"It's _not_ a hook-up," Nagisa whispers harshly, her eyes glittering. _"I'm going to_ kill _him."_

Stern Lecture opens her mouth, but her retort dies on her lips when she sees Akabane grinning devilishly at Isogai, and Stern Lecture winces as Isogai is unceremoniously shoved over. The look in Gyaru English's baby blues rivals the mischievous glint in Akabane's, and Stern Lecture has barely enough time to think that those two are either going to _rule the world together_ or they'll _destroy it completely_ before she and Isogai are both shoved over to the balcony by some unspoken signal of the Devil Duo's. At least they've been given some semblance of privacy, Stern Lecture thinks with a rueful sigh and a razor sharp glare at a giggling Gyaru English. She wishes she can kill the blonde. She seriously considers doing it.

Mistress is the only one seemingly unperturbed by the sudden change in plans, waving at Stern Lecture with a serene smile. "Have fun!"

"Now, it's your turn, Nagisa! Go get 'em, tiger!" Gyaru English whisper-shouts as Nagisa walks through the crowd, jutting out her chin in determination.

Nagisa doesn't hesitate. She walks up to Akabane and tugs on the sleeve of his blazer. He towers a good head or so above her, but their difference in height doesn't deter her in the least. "I'd like to talk to you. _Now._ "

The other brunette is wearing a camel-hair sports coat over a sharp black dress shirt and well-cut wool trousers. Compared to his friends, his face is rather plain – the only thing noticeable about him is his distinctively bowl-cut hairstyle. " _Half of Middle Two_ , that's not fair! Why are you and _President Ikemen_ scoring all the hot chicks?"

Color rushes into Nagisa's face at being called a _'hot chick'_. For someone who has blended in the crowd all her life, being the center of attention is a breath of fresh air.

Akabane chuckles as he moves away and Nagisa can hear the amusement in his voice. "You could try hitting on that black-haired girl."

"I'll send _Mistress_ my condolences," She mutters, reluctantly allowing herself to be led onto the dance floor.

Akabane laughs again, sounding like an angel playing the harp on top of a rainbow. He sets his hand on the bare skin of Nagisa's lower back and a shock of awareness moves through her. " _Mushroom Director_ isn't all that bad. It's _Womanizing Bastard_ and _End of Perversion_ that you've got to look out for."

"' _Mushroom director'_?" Nagisa mimics the exact same words he'd first uttered during their first meeting. " _'Womanizing Bastard'_? Who comes up with your code names, anyway, _Half of Middle Two_?"

Akabane's lips curve into a slow, heart-stopping smile. "Would you believe me if I told you that we did a draw, _Gender Blender_?"

"I would, actually," Nagisa replies coolly. "How do you think we got _our_ own code-names? It certainly wasn't by choice."

He draws her closer, until there is only a whisper separating them. The room is thrumming to the sexy, hypnotic beat of Sofia Karlberg's "Crazy in Love". _Got me looking so crazy right now . . . Your love's got me looking so crazy right now . . ._ She slithers her body next to his, feeling beads of sweat and perspiration on his shirt that the heat between the two of them generates. Nagisa doesn't even feel like she is in a room full of crowded, sweaty teenagers. They move with the same rhythm, their bodies perfectly in tune with each other. Akabane expertly keeps her body close to his, leaning down to breathe lightly on her neck.

"So . . ." Akabane's voice is overly casual, and Nagisa resists the urge to step away, sure that he is up to no good. ". . . You really didn't travel to Thailand or Morocco to have _it_ removed?"

"Akabane, for the last time - _I'm a girl!"_ Something in his tone rubs Nagisa the wrong way. "And you don't have to travel so far to get _that_ removed – _I_ can do it for you, if you'd like."

He arches an eyebrow, looking amused instead of cowering in fear like she'd hoped he'd be doing. "Fiesty much?"

Nagisa wishes she'd dealt more damage to him during their last encounter. Akabane had gotten off pretty lightly in her opinion – with merely a dose of humiliation from having his manly parts kicked. The straining of fresh sutures on her chest reminds her of what she's come here to do – to tell Akabane to back off. Not engage in playful banter with the rude prick. Shaking her head to clear it, Nagisa brings her perfectly glossed mouth close to his ear, where she can whisper her request without being overheard.

"I don't know why you're following me, but I suggest you stop." She twines her arms around his neck, forcing Akabane to stay with her.

"Or else?" Akabane challenges, his eyes running up and down her lazily, like the stroking paws of a cat.

The prick doesn't even look perturbed. Nagisa feels a surge of vindication when he makes a muffled sound of surprise when her lips claim his. It is at first almost as if he doesn't want to kiss her: His mouth is hard on hers, unyielding; then he puts both arms around her and pulls her against him, ever closer, ever nearer. His lips soften. Akabane sighs and her tongue dips inside, tasting him in long leisurely licks. Nagisa can feel the rapid beat of his heart, taste mint and her own cherry lip-gloss on his mouth. Her own heart is hammering, pressed full-body against him, achingly aware of every hot, hard inch of him. And for the first time in her life, Nagisa is glad that Professor Bitch taught them the art of seduction. She'd originally baulked at the thought of seducing a man ( but at least she hadn't fainted like Poison Specs ), but she'd eventually taken to it like a duck to water, second to only Scrunchies and Boobs in their shared class.

"Gender Blender," Nagisa dimly registers Forever Flat's hushed, quivering voice crackling to life in her earpiece. "Gyaru English has all the evidence we need. They're waiting for you outside."

Nagisa's eyes fly open.

Akabane never sees it coming. With a quick flourish, Nagisa yanks her dagger out from her thigh sheath, plunging it into his abdomen. And when the pain finally hits him, when the crowd finally realizes that someone has been _stabbed_ , Nagisa is already gone, weaving her way through the throng of teenagers, dashing down the red-carpeted staircase as fast as she can possibly go.

"So . . ." Gyaru English says, once the four of them are safely in the black Town car, speeding to their safe house on Broadway. "What happened to _'It's not a hook-up'_ and _'I'm gonna kill him'_?"

The only thing that comes out of Nagisa's mouth is a pained groan.


	6. Karma turns Into Karmelia

**A/N:** Okay, so I've tried something different with this chapter. However - there are several trigger warnings, including ( implied ) prostitution, along with ( implied ) murder, if you read between the lines. **YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.** For those not keen on the subjects, I recommend you skip the chapter, and wait for tomorrow's update.

* * *

"You're expensive," Clarence Ashworth says, a flirtatious skip in his step keeping him beside the 'woman' leading him down the corridor of the inn.

Akabane Karma doesn't break stride. "You called for me specifically, as I recall."

He doesn't know how Nagisa Shiota can do it – dress as the other gender as casually as breathing. Even though it's his first time in dress and makeup, he already wants to rip the damn thing off. A thick layer of makeup has helped to round and fill out the angles of his face ( he isn't sure if he wants to know how _End of Perversion_ has learnt how to apply makeup with such skill ), and a false fall of mousy brown hair tumbles down his back, held back by sparkling diamond clips. End of Perversion and Womanizing Bastard had spent the afternoon primping him up for the evening's festivities ( while Home Base had pretended to gag and President Ikemen sighed heavily ), like some real-life Barbie doll. They'd settled on a sexy-but-in-an-off-beat-bohemian-way-with-straps-just-falling-off-the-shoulder-just-so-Marni camisole, a tiny denim Earnest Sewn miniskirt, and a sparkly Rick Owens cashmere wrap. Four inch Alaia heels glitter on his feet, making walking a real pain in the ass. Karma will never be able to figure out how women can actually teeter on these strappy death traps all day long.

Floral patterned runners pad their footsteps. Karma has selected the most private room, the end unit on the outlying wing of the property. The quaint bed-and-breakfast, a few miles from the heart of Singapore, has low occupancy for July. Low occupancy is good. They're going to be making some noise. A sadistic smile flickers across Karma's face.

Ashworth speeds up, trying to get a glimpse of his face. Karma is careful to keep a curtain of chocolate curls between him and his client. After checking in, he'd let Ashworth in through a side entrance like they'd agreed. As a politician climbing his way up the ladder, he can't be seen here. Not with the likes of a 'call-girl' like Karma, anyway.

Karma shoves through the door into the room, which has a bland color palette of beige and brown, with a centerpiece of Vanda 'Miss Joaquim' orchids taking pride of place. A four poster bed dominates the space. The sliding door to the bathroom has been rolled back to reveal a copper soaking tub.

The copper tub is why Speccy Four Eyes has selected the place.

The duffel clanks on the floor boards when he slides it off his shoulder. Karma clicks the wooden blinds shut, and then yanks off the bedding and smooths the rubber sheet over the bare mattress. With an innocent smile, Karma addresses his client. "Take off your pants and spread those cheeks!"

He complies a bit too eagerly and Karma's smile grows a little strained. Ashworth has the build of a former athlete, soft around the middle. "We need to specify a safe word. Mine is 'cauliflower'."

"That's – er . . ."

"Anything goes, except for pegging and fire play."

"Uh huh," Karma hums absently, not really paying attention.

He has to resist the urge to shudder. Next time, he'll let Womanizing Bastard deal with this. Ashworth lowers himself onto the bed. Karma secures his arms and legs to the four posts using flexi cuffs. Before his client can talk his ear off again, Karma shoves a ball gag into his mouth. His face seems to bulge around the red ball, and Karma, very pointedly, keeps his eyes fixed on the walls, the carpet, on anything but this middle aged man's _chimichanga._

Karma unzips the bag.

He comes up with surgical gloves.

Around the rubber ball fixed firmly over his mouth, Ashworth looks puzzled, but game.

From inside the bag, Karma's phone erupts with the chorus of Sugababes' "Get Sexy", and he frowns. _'Cause I'm too sexy in this club . . . So sexy it hurts . . ._ That's President Ikemen's ringtone, but Karma has told him _specifically_ that he's got everything under control. With only Home Base as the getaway driver, Karma has asked President Ikemen to stay at the hotel with the rest of the gang, even going so far as to confidently say that he'd wrap the mission up in ten minutes. Karma checks the clock on his phone. It's been eleven. _Damn._

First he lets himself get sidetracked – with a rival agent, no less! – and now he's slipping up. Akabane Karma going _soft_. He'll never hear the end of it.

Against his better judgment, he answers the phone, holding up a blue-latex sheathed finger. "President Ikemen?"

"Half of Middle Two, I am _so_ sorry –" President Ikemen sounds frazzled, but his voice cuts off just as quickly.

"Why didn't you tell me you met a hot chick?" End of Perversion practically wails, and Karma yanks the phone away from his ear, waiting until the level of sound has reached an acceptable decibel.

" – Yeah dude, _'bros before hoes'_ , remember?" Womanizing Bastard is saying, a fact which Karma finds ironic. "You can't just up and kiss a girl you've known for all of five minutes!"

"Says the honey-pot of the team - " Karma tries to speak up, but is swallowed up by End of Perversion's obnoxiously loud voice.

" – Did you at least get her number?" End of Perversion interjects eagerly.

"I'm hanging up~"

"Wait, wait." There is a sound of a tussle on the other end, right before President Ikemen snatches his phone back, panting with the effort. "Half of Middle Two, has the package been neutralized?"

Karma begins unloading his supplies from the duffel back and sets them next to the industrial blender. Hack saw. Hand axe. Safety goggles.

Over on the bed, Ashworth makes muffled noises.

"Just about."

"Da Densest is furious," President Ikemen says. "You failed the mission and you got taken out by a _honey pot._ I don't think toying around with this target is wise."

Karma falls silent, biting his lower lip. He busies himself with taking out a long black roll of construction sheeting, places it on the floor and gives it a nudge with his heel. It rolls smoothly across the carpeted floor, leaving a wide expanse of protective cover.

"– She stabbed you, Half of Middle Two. She kissed you and –"

"She's not a honey pot," Karma says at last, with a weak laugh. "She's played all of us for a fool, President Ikemen."

Carefully, he extracts from the duffel two jugs of concentrated hydrofluoric acid, effect at dissolving flesh and bones. Karma makes a mental note to thank Speccy Four-Eyes when he gets back. It has to be stored in plastic, since it eats through everything from concrete to porcelain. Hydrofluoric acid solution is a contact-poison that causes deep, initially painless burns which results in permanent tissue death. It also interferes with calcium metabolism, which means that exposure to it can and _does_ cause cardiac arrest and death. Contact with as little as 25 square inches of skin can kill, and that is what Karma is gunning for. The copper tub would react with the acid, but it would just come out shinier, all the oxide stains eaten away.

The sounds of panicked thrashing carry over from the bed.

"I – _What_ are you even –"

"You weren't there." Karma says simply. "You didn't see it. One moment she was a little mouse, the next she was a snake. She's _deadly,_ President Ikemen. She's a talented assassin, one who can conceal her bloodlust with a smile to set everyone at ease. She might be even better than Da Densest in that aspect."

He remembers the blood-lust radiating from the small girl, like a cloud of the most delicious perfume, unleashed only when she'd driven the point of her dagger his abdomen just beneath his ribs – with that sunny, serene smile, as though she was on her way to school, or to a friend's house; instead of pulling one over a world-renowned assassin. The first time they'd met, Nagisa Shiota hadn't stood out much – she'd reminded him of a mouse, with nothing note-worthy, aside from her well-placed move to shoot randomly into the underbrush and now he'd paid the price for it. She'd captured the attention of everyone in the room at their last encounter, with a killer outfit and a body that spoke of hours of training.

Himself included.

A thick vein pulses in Ashworth's neck. He tries to say something through the ball gag, but Karma has secured the straps good and tight.

When President Ikemen next speaks, he sounds resigned. "I got it. I'll take care of this issue. _You_ just finish your mission and get back so we can see if your stitches have ripped. Try not to get stabbed again, Half of Middle Two."

At his tone, Karma can't help but wonder what exactly he'll be up to. On one hand, he wants to return as fast as he can to ditch the outfit. The thought of having a little fun with his prey brings a smile to his lips. Karma picks up two tubes of mustard and wasabi and starts for the bed.

 _"Gotcha."_


	7. Nagisa Takes Candy From A Stranger

**A/N:** Once again, this update comes with a bunch of trigger warnings including **DATE RAPE DRUGS** and **ATTEMPTED RAPE**. So, for those of you uncomfortable with these two subjects, I suggest you wait for the next update. For those of you who choose to read on, **YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. FYI** , for those of you who **DO** go clubbing, **NEVER** accept drinks from other people. With those warnings out of the way, enjoy the chapter! Also - some people have been asking who 'Da Densest' is ( refer to chapter 6 for more information ). That is Mr Karasuma's nickname. To conclude, reviews, subs and favorites are appreciated. And I hope everyone can guess the identity of Nagisa's savior! *wink wink* If not, I'll reveal it in the next chapter!

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The line to get into _Primal_ wraps around the block and the guitar-heavy tracks suit the club's name, the music pounding through the darkened space with a primitive, seductive beat. The décor is an eclectic mix of brushed metals and dark woods, with the multi-hued lighting creating animal-print silhouettes. On the dance floor, men and women writhe with Cirque du Soleil flexibility. At the bar, guys are doing body shots off girls. In the corners, a whole lot of making out is going on. Nagisa smells sweat and perfume and a few things she can't identify. Building-wise, there are two floors. The bottom is for dancing and socializing, and the top is for VIPs, maybe. An iron railing circles the second tier, allowing a clear view for those at the edge of a separate sectioned-off area. There, Nagisa makes out black leather couches and chairs, iron tables and —

 _The target._

He sits on one of the couches, facing Nagisa, with black suited body guards beside him. He is talking to a willowy brunette across from him and laughing. Their target is casually dressed, in a severe military greatcoat over a flannel shirt and a pair of holey blue jeans. A black New York Yankees cap covers his auburn hair. The girl next to him is tall and slender, with a cascade of straight brown hair. Her lips are lush and red, her cheekbones high and sculpted. She's wearing a crimson silk Vera Wang with a strapless bustier bodice, an open back, and a tiered skirt that ends a few inches above her knees.

Nagisa nudges a flushed and bright-eyed Gyaru English in the stomach and points. She follows the line of Nagisa's finger and claps, looking very hot in a slinky gold halter dress.

"Goody!" Rising on her tiptoes so that she is poised at Nagisa's ear, she says, "Time to enact Operation Boys Will Cry. Stage one — make them notice us."

"This is a bad idea," Stern Lecture mumbles, looking very uncomfortable in an electric blue figure hugging mini-dress.

Mistress frowns. She's dressed in a pretty LBD, with delicate starbursts stitched over the Venetian silk, like stars twinkling in the night sky. "I thought we were supposed to be getting information."

"And so we shall," Gyaru English tries to sound soothing, but a pit of anxiety worms its way into Nagisa's stomach.

"What about spying?" She demands. Their ticket to busting their target, who is reportedly abducting women from the club.

Nagisa has chosen a gorgeous little Valentino cocktail dress to wear to _Primal_. It's a black-and-white strapless confection, with a tight bodice that accents her tiny waist. A thick black band and a dramatic lace bow adds just the right hint of girlish insouciance. Nagisa has been wearing more dresses lately, ever since Akabane figured out that she's a girl.

"We can't really spy on them if they're not spying on us, now can we?"

 _Warped logic, but okay._

OBWC, stage one, part A: doing a bump and grind on the dance floor. They hit the dance floor en masse and are quickly swallowed into the mass of writhing dancers, quickly finding themselves pressed between steamy male bodies. There, Gyaru English somehow manages to force everyone else to take a few steps back, leaving them in their own private circle. Anyone watching from the top floor will be unable to miss them.

Nagisa has no idea how to dance gracefully. Or attractively. But she watches the way the other girls move their arms and hips and mimics them. She must succeed, because all four offer her smiles of encouragement.

After what seems an eternity, Nagisa motions Gyaru English over and when she reaches Nagisa, she says, "I don't see the point of all this."

"Oh, you will soon enough. But listen, whatever you do," The blonde says, moving behind her and placing her hands on Nagisa's hips, "Don't look up. I'm about to enact stage two. Stage three will commence soon after that, with no more action required on our part, so be ready."

With a force of will Nagisa doesn't know she possesses, she glances at Gyaru English over her shoulder rather than at the boy. _"Wait._ There are _more_ stages?"

"Here we go!" Like the sex kitten Nagisa is beginning to think she is, Gyaru English spins around her and crooks her finger at a group of ultra-cute random guys.

Stage two: fanning the flames of jealousy.

The guys eagerly join the little circle. Within minutes, masculine hands are roaming, and soft bodies bump into hard bodies. Nagisa is uncomfortable and embarrassed, and actually has to slap a boy's fingers away from her butt, but she keeps dancing, determined to see Gyaru English's plan through to the end. Not once does she look in their target's direction.

Finally, she begins to lose herself in the music. Her arms lift over her head, and her eyes close. Nagisa sways, spins — and smacks into a hard chest. Nagisa peers up, ready to tell whichever guy has decided to come after her to back off. She —

She never should have doubted Gyaru English.

Violet eyes, soft and friendly stare down at her. Handsome and sporting a boyish grin, the boy manages to coax a sweet smile out of Nagisa. Hard hands settle on her waist, jerking her closer… Closer… Until only a whisper separates them. The brunette, who has followed the boy, casts a look that can freeze the Pacific at their target, and Nagisa offers her an apologetic smile, which is pointedly ignored.

"Hi," He says, completely ignoring the girl, whom Nagisa presumes is his girlfriend. "I'm Spencer."

"Hi," Nagisa squeaks. _Gotta get that under control._ Adrenaline fizzles in her veins. "My name's Nagisa."

Spencer pilfers a beer from the tray of a passing waitress, takes a swig, and hands it over to Nagisa. The thing smells like battery acid and moldy bread, and Nagisa crinkles her nose as she takes a gulp. Fire scorches its way down her throat and she coughs until the brown liquid threatens to squirt through her nose.

Spencer laughs. "You're funny. You choke louder than you speak."

Nagisa laughs along with him through a series of coughs, using her hand to hide her smile. After she's stopped hacking, he says, "C'mon. Let's take a break. I'll get you some water."

Arm clamped firmly around her waist, Spencer half carries half drags her through the mass of writhing bodies. Her eyes are so heavy, and Nagisa has to lean stiffly on him for support. The ground seems to be heaving up and down under her feet. Spencer grows blurry, her surroundings losing their definite edges. She hears the click of a key in a lock, and then she is led through into a room. A massive sleigh bed dominates the space, the wood dark and the linens a soft cream. The rest of the furnishings match the bed and the accents are brushed gold. For a second, she seems to float in the air, then the soft silk presses into the skin of her bare back.

She frowns. Something is wrong. She's come here to do . . . Something. But she can't remember what. A dreadful fog seems to have invaded her brain, clouding her judgment. A wave of dizziness washes over her, and it's all Nagisa can do to remain conscious as the realization hits her. "The beer . . ."

Spencer spiked the beer. She's only taken a mouthful, but the drugs are already racing through the traceries of blue veins that map the insides of her skin, bringing the poison in her blood to her brain. She shifts her free hand to knock him out, but her fingers feel brittle, disconnected; and despite being an inch above her measly height of five feet, he is strong. Someone must have trained him, because in a too-fast movement he grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head. She slams into the bed so hard the air is knocked from her lungs and her head spins like a satellite out of orbit. A crushing weight cuts off Nagisa's air and a hand is shoved up beneath her skirt, groping and bruising. Panic grips her and she thrashes, trying futilely to buck him off. She can't breathe, her lungs shuddering with sobs. Spots dance before Nagisa's eyes; her chest burns.

 _No . . . Please, stop . . ._

And then he coughs, spraying Nagisa's face with blood. She cringes away, repulsed by the warm, sticky rain. Spencer collapses on top of her, and mustering the last of her dwindling strength, Nagisa manages to shove his body off hers, dimly registering the knife in his back. Nagisa tries to crawl away, but her limbs refuse to respond, and the walls of the luxurious room around her starts slipping away.

"You're okay," A familiar voice is saying, and then warm, calloused hands are frantically wiping at the tears that stream down her cheeks. "It's okay, Nagisa. Everything will be okay now, I promise."

Nagisa focuses as hard as she can on the only face she can see. It is contorted with anger that not even a thick layer of makeup can mask. The brunette from the club gathers her limp form into her arms, easing an arm underneath Nagisa's knees. She is still muttering apologies in a slightly unsteady voice. Nagisa releases her grip on consciousness. Everything dissolves like spiral galaxies through an unfocused telescope, everything except an alabaster oval and two specks of gold.


	8. Da Densest Nagisa Realizes

**A/N:** Two more chapters and this story is done! Now I really wanna write that Mafia AU ( with fem! Nagisa and Karma ), and there's a high chance I might, so keep AN out for it!

* * *

"Are you okay?" Mistress asks gently.

Nagisa's face is deathly pale, and she has made no effort to mask the shadow of weariness that rings her eyes. Today, she seems as though she is drowning in fabric. Her slender frame is lost within the voluminous folds of her black cardigan, which smells of stale rose water. The black sweater reaches almost to her calves, and underneath, she's wearing a white eyelet sundress. She's wearing a pair of strappy sandals, and her hair tumbles around her shoulders in fragrant tangles. Even though Nagisa looks like she's recovering from a bad bout of flu, she still looks incredibly pretty.

"It _is_ a lot to take in," Gyaru English adds roughly, swiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

Gyaru English is wearing a black cotton sweater, the lace of her La Senza bra clearly visible through the thin weave. She taps her ballet flats against the carpeted floor impatiently, unable to sit still. Her normally sun-kissed skin is pale and wan, and Nagisa guesses that she must have been worried.

"I . . ." Nagisa squeezes her eyes so tightly that she sees rainbow colored blobs and sparks behind her eyelids. " . . . Let me get this straight."

She opens her mouth, but clamps it shut once again when the waiter arrives bearing a silver three-story tray laden with scones, sandwiches, and petit fours. Shiny silver teapots filled with brewing tea are placed next to their porcelain cups. The waiter takes the teapot and pours the hot tea into her cup. The pleasant aroma of steeped bergamot fills her senses, and Nagisa droops like a flower wilting at dusk, the tension leaving her set shoulders. In the background, the harpist plays a gentle melody.

To stall for time, Nagisa helps herself to the treats. Aside from a handful of warm almonds and a mouthful of ( spiked ) beer the night before, her stomach has had virtually nothing in it. Nagisa puts a lavish spoonful of Devonshire cream on a scone and tops it off with a dollop of lemon curd. She takes a bite, murmuring her delight.

Nagisa tries again. It feels odd to feel the heavy sensation of arms and legs again. Her stomach flips, but she doesn't think she'll vomit ( which is good, since she'd spent quite a bit of time heaving the contents of her stomach into the toilet ). "You claim that Akabane dressed up as a girl, killed the target and carried me safely away like a damsel in distress."

The words are heavy in her mouth. Even _Nagisa_ herself doesn't quite believe it. On the bright side, it makes Gyaru English crack a smile.

"Yes, that's what I've been saying," Stern Lecture says, dabbing her napkin on her mouth. "Isogai was there, and he gave me the skinny."

"Your boyfriend was there, and you didn't tell me?" Gyaru English asks accusingly.

Stern Lecture ignores her in favor of leaning forwards to whisper urgently at Nagisa. "Okay, again, this is what happened. Akabane took off after that douche dragged you to his hotel room. He saw . . . Well, you know what he saw, and he killed the douche. Akabane dragged you back downstairs, where he and Isogai helped to get you back to us. We headed back to the safe house, and that's it. End of story."

Nagisa discovers that she is starving. She takes sandwich – a thin, square, tuna salad one, and another scone. "I don't get it."

The waiter silently refills the top two levels of their tray, gliding in unobtrusively.

"Which part?" Mistress asks, in between bites of smoked salmon on rye.

Nagisa is confused. "I'm . . ." She swallows, and forces out the question. " . . . I _stabbed_ him. Why would he . . .?"

"Well, to be fair, he did try to kill you _twice."_ Gyaru English frowns and lifts the lid of her teapot. She beckons to the waiter who is standing quietly against the wall. "I'd like some more hot water please," she says.

Mistress bites her lip. "Maybe . . ."

"Maybe what?" Nagisa reaches for a strawberry tart, chewing and swallowing the slick of sweetness without really tasting anything.

". . . Maybe he's in love with you." Gyaru English says lightly, seeming more like her old self. Her pronouncement is so matter-of-fact, she could have been giving Nagisa a cookies recipe. She squints at her small square of sponge cake, frowning.

If Nagisa had been drinking, water would have shot out her nostrils. As it is, she casts Gyaru English a bewildered glance. "Excuse me?"

Stern Lecture cringes, and busies herself with choosing a small finger sandwich filled with crab salad. She takes a tiny bite, then puts it back on her plate. "I'm sure there's an explanation for their statement." She arches an eyebrow. "There _is_ one, _right?"_

Mistress' voice has a melodious, cultured quality, soothing and patrician at the same time. " _Love_ might be too strong a word, but it's obvious that you feel _something_ for him." She stirs honey into her tea, running a finger over the sparkling rim of the cup. "At the dance, you could have killed Akabane, but you _didn't_. On the rooftop, you could have sniped him, but you didn't."

"That's . . ." Nagisa sets her tea cup down with such force that the other patrons look up at the sound. ". . . I didn't . . ."

Mistress offers Nagisa a sympathetic smile over the rim of her tea cup. She takes a long sip, her pinky finger pointed down daintily. "He could have killed you in the forest, or in the hotel, but he chose not to. And yesterday, too. Akabane didn't have to follow you. He could have just left you to . . ." She waves her hand around to illustrate her point, but Nagisa gets it.

She remembers how at first, she thought it had been him sitting vigil at her bedside as she woke. But his hair was crimson, like flickering flames, not green. His eyes golden and expressive; one moment mischievous, the next predatory, not emerald green and pained. She hoped Kayano hadn't seen the disappointment in her own eyes that it was her she'd seen, not the boy who'd saved her.

"Oh. _Oh."_ A strangled squeak escapes Nagisa's throat. "Oh no, no, _no._ This cannot be happening."

"I assure you, it _is_ very much happening," Gyaru English says with a wolfish grin, looking incredibly happy; almost as though she were the one hooking up with a boy, not Nagisa.

"Well," Stern Lecture mutters. "At least he like _likes_ you too."

"How is that a _good_ thing?" Nagisa asks weakly, her head still swimming – but it's not a side effect of the drugs; at least, she doesn't think so.

"He won't kill you when you go to see him later," Mistress explains as she surveys the plate of petit fours and chooses a hazelnut cookie.

"I don't know where he lives," Nagisa mumbles, staring miserably at her empty plate.

A part of her dreads talking to Akabane, but a larger part of her burns with curiosity, over-ruling the fear and a lifetime on instincts that scream _'THIS IS A BAD IDEA'._ This time, she's determined not to leave until she's gotten the answers to what she wants to know. She can only hope that Akabane wants to talk to her as well.

Stern Lecture clears her throat, setting down a half eaten chocolate cream puff. "I do."


	9. They Kiss and Make Out

**A/N:** AKA I tried. *buries head in hands* This is the chapter where Karma makes it to third base ( where they have sex ), so if you're not a fan of smut ( is this even smut? *shrugs* ), skip this chapter. **YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**. In other news, there is just one more chapter to go before this story is officially completed!

* * *

Nagisa enters the understated and elegant lobby of Karma's apartment building and checks in with the front desk.

It isn't until she is alone in his private elevator that the nerves _really_ hit her.

 _Frowning at the brass key in her hands, Nagisa asked, "What is this supposed to be?"_

" _It's . . ." Stern Lecture buried her head in her hands to hide a flushed face. " . . . It's the key to Akabane's apartment."_

" _And just how did_ you _get the key to Akabane Karma's apartment?" Gyaru English demanded, staring at the girl sitting across from her in an entirely new light. "I don't suppose you lifted it off him when you bumped into him on the street? Or did he give it to you while you were –"_

" _No! No!" Stern Lecture's head snapped up, and she glared at Gyaru English. "Isogai gave it to me –"_

"– _What a disappointment that must have been for you," Gyaru English muttered._

"– _Because apparently, Karma has been distracted, so Isogai wanted to nip the problem in the bud –"_

" _Ohoho ~ Nagisa managed to 'distract' Akabane, eh?" Gyaru English waggled her eyebrows like a villain in a vaudeville. "Impressive."_

 _This time, it was Nagisa who had to hide her burning face. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass table, calming down slightly at the sensation against her flushed skin._

" _You'll have to talk to him eventually," Mistress said, folding her hands demurely in her lap. "If not, the two of you really_ will _end up killing each other."_

Aside from the fact that she doesn't know what to say – _"Thank you"? "I'm sorry for trying to kill you"? "Why did you help me"? "Did I hallucinate you carrying me"?_ \- Nagisa can't deny that she expects Akabane to try and kill her _again_. The issue of weapons isn't the problem; she has pepper spray in her clutch and knives strapped to her thigh. Nagisa just isn't sure that she'll be able to _actually_ kill him if the situation calls for it.

And that's the Second Commandment broken: _Never get attached to your target._

Not to mention the Third Commandment – _Never go into a potentially hazardous situation without backup._

 _I'm breaking all my rules today,_ Nagisa thinks, exiting into a small foyer decorated with checkerboard marble tiles and an antique console bearing a massive arrangement of white calla lilies. Before she unlocks Akabane's front door, she takes a deep breath, steeling herself for however she might find him. But the moment she enters Akabane's apartment, Nagisa knows he isn't home. The energy that thrums through a space when he occupies it is markedly absent. Lights that are activated by Nagisa's movements come on when she enters the expansive living room, and she forces herself to settle in as if she belongs there.

On the walls there are paintings, everywhere – from Jackson Pollock to Degas' ballerinas. His private space is warm and sumptuous, filled with antiques and art anchored by gorgeous Aubusson rugs laid over gleaming hardwood floors. Huge is too small a word for the main living area. The far wall is glass and leads on to a balcony that overlooks the bustling and lively city, with lights that gleam like flickering candle flames.

To the right is an imposing 'U' shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless steel - or maybe platinum for all she knows - modern fireplace. On the left beside Nagisa, by the entryway, is the kitchen area. All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar which seats six. Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. She should have known that he plays the piano too. _Is there anything that boy can't do?_ There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live.

She wanders into his vast bed room, gazing around in interest. The floral wallpaper looks as though it could have come from George Washington's house. The hearth and mantel are glossy white. Antique furniture in varying shades of brown are scattered around the room. The huge four poster bed is made up neatly with fluffy pillows and linens in champagne silk. On the wall above it is a picture of Akabane, his clothes dripping wet. He is smiling happily, shielding his face with a forearm, and other males, all of their clothes plastered to their bodies like second skins, splash more water at him. Nagisa settles delicately onto the very edge of the bed, picking at her nails, which have been painted a pearly "Socialite". An inexplicable feeling courses through her veins, one that comes with the realization that she is most likely one of the few people that has been allowed a glimpse into Akabane's private life. Nagisa feels as though she's drunk down liquid sunshine.

She feels Akabane approaching before she hears the soft pad of his footsteps. Nagisa doesn't look up, scuffing the carpet with the edge of her toe. Hesitantly, she peers up at him through her eyelashes. From what she can see, Akabane doesn't seem mad, and he doesn't appear to be armed. In fact, she can't read his expression at all.

"What are you doing here?" Akabane asks, and Nagisa can feel the springs in the mattress squeak as he settles himself on the bed.

"Um . . ." Nagisa hesitates, wondering if she should rat 'Isogai' out. " . . . I wanted to talk to you."

Nagisa swallows. She and Akabane are finally alone with no one listening in. Total privacy. It's time, more than past, actually, to get to the truth of matters.

"Why did you do it?" She demands, her stomach in knots, and not only because she hasn't had a proper meal all day.

"Do what?" Akabane sounds oddly . . . _Nervous._

She forces herself to sound confident, keeping her chin high. "Save me. I've been thinking about it all day, and I still can't figure it out. As much as it pains me to admit this, your life would be a lot easier if I'd gotten abducted and sold in Thailand or Morocco. No more Nagisa Shiota trying to kill you, no more Nagisa Shiota trying to one up you, no more Nagisa Shiota to get in your way."

Karma focuses on the sleeve of his jacket, brushing an invisible piece of lint as if it is the most important thing in the world. Tonight, he's wearing a black motorcycle jacket and a white T-Shirt, along with a pair of ripped jeans and a pair of black Converse. He refuses to look at her. "Give me some credit. I'm not one to stand idly by while a girl gets sold into modern day slavery."

"Yes, because you're the nicest person in the world," Nagisa rolls her eyes.

He doesn't laugh. He just sits on the bed, his fists clenched tightly, his attention fixed on the walls of his room that are surely as familiar to him as they are unfamiliar to Nagisa. Akabane's expression is pained, as if he can't bear to look directly at her. "Do you really want to know why I saved your life?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Akabane nods as though he's expected her persistence, and when he speaks, his tone is flat. "For as long as I can remember, I've been working with Mr. Karasuma. My parents were assassinated when I was younger, and he took me in, taught me everything I know. How to kill someone, how to tie my shoes . . . Blood and death was a regular occurrence for me; I killed someone once every week or so. My interest in you was purely professional at first. As you know, not many people tangle with me and walk away unscathed."

Nagisa listens, twisting her fingers together until they grow chilly from lack of blood. She doesn't say anything, doesn't judge, although she can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the golden-eyed boy, picturing a young child standing over two bodies and weeping his eyes out. She's barely breathing.

"You want to know why I did what I did?" His brows draw together as if he is only now allowing himself to consider this question. "It's fairly simple, actually. It's because . . . Even in this twisted bloody world that we call 'normal', without with your constant scheming behind my back to kill me, without the clear, unhardened look in your eyes, without that bloodlust that appears whenever we fight . . ." He hisses out a breath through clenched teeth. " . . . In this dark and screwed up world, where people stab each other in the back more often than not, you've become someone I . . . _Care_ for. And I won't ever let you die. Alright?"

An invisible hand wraps around her throat, squeezing hard and making it impossible to breathe. "I . . . I . . ."

"'Love' _might be too strong a word, but it's obvious the two of you feel_ something _for each other."_

" . . . That's what Mistress said," Nagisa murmurs, feeling hollow inside. " . . . She thought I was in _love_ with you. But I don't . . ."

And then she is kissing him, and Nagisa isn't even sure who initiated it. With a soft sigh, Karma hauls her into him and kisses her hard, bruising her lips. His hand is in Nagisa's hair, fisting it roughly, holding her in place so she can't turn away. Karma kisses her without reservation, kissing her as if he is starved for the taste of her and Nagisa sighs, her body sagging limply against Karma's. He smells like cinnamon and tastes like mint. His body feels so perfectly right against Nagisa's. Her heart thunders in her chest.

"You're not going to stab me again, are you?" Karma pulls away, a tinge of that mischievous humor glinting in his eyes as usual.

Nagisa stares at him, raising a hand to press against her swollen lips. "No. Not today, Aka . . . _Karma."_

At the mention of his first name, Karma stills, his breath gusting hard and fast over her neck. His lips glide down Nagisa's neck, his tongue stroking over her racing pulse. He sucks on Nagisa's skin and pleasure radiates through her. Karma touches her restlessly, his hands sliding over her thighs, lingering between her legs as if caressing her bare skin is as necessary to him as breathing. His breath hisses out when he reaches the point where her garter clips to the top of her silk stocking. He tears his gaze away from Nagisa's and looks down, pushing her skirt higher to bare her from the waist down.

"You're beautiful," His gasped words are threaded with a hint of delicious agony. "Nagisa, you're so –" He slides his thumb beneath the edge of her underwear, biting his lower lip when Nagisa clenches helplessly around him. Pressed full-body against him, achingly aware of every hot, hard inch of Karma, Nagisa kisses him as if she can eat him alive. Her skin is damp and too sensitive, her breasts heavy and tender.

Nagisa tries to think of a response that makes sense, something appropriate, but all she can manage is: _"Please._ Don't stop."

She doesn't mind begging if it means getting her way.

Apparently that is enough to satisfy Karma, and he kisses her possessively. Thoroughly. Deeply.

He eases her back until she is lying against the pillows, and she waits for him to stop, to tell her that they've gone far enough for tonight. But she doesn't want him to. She wants him to keep going. Her body aches for it. She reaches for him, clinging so tightly that her fingers hurt. Everything inside of her hurts. Karma settles over her, covering her with his body, reacting to her. Nagisa wraps her legs around him, pulling his hips closer, telling him with her every movement that she wants him, that she wants this. _Now._

"Are you sure?" Karma asks into the warm breath between them, barely lifting his mouth from hers.

She nods, but when she tries to speak, her voice trembles. She hopes he doesn't read it wrong. "Yes." She is nervous and terrified and thrilled all at the same time. He smiles against her mouth, still kissing her, stroking her tongue with lush slides of his own, and Nagisa melts into him, unable to stop her heart from thundering. He groans, his lips moving to her neck as he tugs at his shirt and pulls it over his head.

And as he slowly slides her dress up, her fingertips stroking her bare skin and making goose bumps prickle in the wake of his touch, Nagisa whimpers, sinking laxly into the mattress, sweaty and boneless and replete.

The pain is more intense than she could have ever imagined, and she does her best not to cry out. But, of course, Karma notices as her body tenses, and then she shudders. Tears dampen her lashes, clumping them together, and yet she refuses to let them fall. He insists that they stop, but Nagisa doesn't let him. Instead they wait, with Karma holding her, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her face, until the pain subsides, becoming something . . . less. Nagisa presses her cheek against Karma's chest, focusing on breathing through the pain.

She drifts off to sleep in Karma's arms. There's a whisper of lips on her forehead, and a murmur in her hair, "Thank you, Nagisa". Nagisa is so spent that she can't even answer him. Eventually, exhausted, she falls asleep.


End file.
